


When Raw Goes Wrong

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [27]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Arguing, Bad Jokes, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Mild Angst, Pregnancy Scares, Vaginal Sex, dorks doing sex wrong, slight pregnancy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anonymous asked: Lowres and Wrench pregnancy scare!A/N: Day 4 of Kinktober! Kink: Pregnancy (not really). Never thought I'd write this with these two morons, but here we are. Hope you like it, Anon! <3Also, I have a super cute image to go with this for you peeps! https://twitter.com/LydiaBrim/status/1310726108741066753?s=20 ISN'T IT AMAZE-BALLS?!?!
Relationships: Wrench (Watch Dogs)/Original Female Character(s), Wrench (Watch Dogs)/Reader
Series: LowRes [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/736974
Comments: 27
Kudos: 99





	When Raw Goes Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



" _ Oooh _ -shit!  _ Oh _ , boy…  _ oh'  _ dude' imma'gonna… I'mma gonna-!"

"Shush-" Low begs, eyes still squeezed shut and a cute whittle drop of sweat finally spilling down her temple. "I can't concentrate when you're…  _ mmmm! _ \- trying to make me laugh."

She's still shoving herself in his lap, squeezing his cock with each jerky, downturn move. Everything about her is shaking and hot like a kettle about to whistle. He was right about having a quickie before the mission started, and once they were both drained, he was gonna brag about it. For once, Low was super wrong about not having enough time to do a little dick dancing. For once, Wrench— _ THE ALMIGHTY— _ was right!

" _ Fuck, dude… _ if you keep pretending to cum, I don’t know when to stop,” she sounds so cute when lecturing him mid-coitus, “Al-also… how have you not tapped out yet??"

“Reverse mind flayer powers, baby!”

“... what an illithid gentlemann _ n’nah _ !” She nerd moans.

Well,  _ duh _ , if LowRes doesn't blow her load, then neither does he. There's a good reason he's holding back, but Wrench can't fathom why her champagne cork hasn't blown yet. The way she's shaking like a leaf, it's gonna be any day now… or maybe she's toying with him which would be  _ soooo _ like her!

Low sweats another river down her cheek, her jaw, and neck as her hips mash downward. He gulps—anarchy tattoo bobbing over his adam's apple—and digs his fingers into her waist. Holding back a bucket of cum like this is no joke (cause  _ holy brownie batter  _ it's been a while), but she's not just sweating on the inside like she usually is. Usually, she's like a cold beer in summer but hot enough to start a wildfire. Also… _ fucking-fuck balls, he's close… _

In a final desperate attempt for mercy, Wrench starts talkin' dirty.

"You're a slayer of dick- _ k'kaaaaaa _ … cock destroyer. I'm gonna-gonna baste your turkey!"

Low sputters with laughter, gasping between heavy moans and breathy sighs. 

"Buttering biscuits never felt so' _ Oh _ good! Let me cum—let me cream your donut hole- _ fuck… _ " it's getting harder to concentrate on the words coming out of his mouth now. Her pussy is getting tighter, strangling him further with each stupid phrase. But, _ HEY _ , it's working.

Wrench rocks her back and forth over his dick and barfs up more mindless sex poetry, but what actually comes out of his mouth is, " _ Ooo' hooo _ , baby, just-just you wait… I'm gonna pump you up, and it's all thanks to this potent… baby  _ mmmmm' makin' _ juice!"

He doesn't even fully comprehend what bullshit he’s said before her sing-song sex noises stutter to a rasp.  _ This is it! The big one—ooooooh, fuck.... _

Silent as a cruising nuke, she finally—FINALLY—comes. Sweet pussy bites down on his dick, clamping tight as Wrench kicks it into high gear and starts throwing, slamming, hammering and jack knifing straight dick right up into her. Low anchors one hand on the back of the sofa and another into the wrinkled front of his hoodie; breasts bouncing hypnotically in front of his face. His grip around her waist tightens, bracing her against thick cock slaps. It's sticky, and it's cute—it’s also super hot—and it's even better when he lets go, whining obnoxiously, and cums. The nuke detonates… his brain cells burn up and…  _ oh, yeah mama _ … he's dead. 

" _ Oh _ ," Low breathes, breathless, "... my'god.  _ Dude _ … did you just cum?!?"

Wrench cracks one eye open. A single zero pops up on his mask, adjacent to a digital dash. 

_ What-what now? _

Inside the snug, warm hug that is LowRes' pussy, his dick twitches and leaks a final time despite his brain's slow restart. Did they talk about not unloading Wrench Junior Jr inside or something? When did they-

_ Oh… oh, fuck…  _ No wonder Wrench had baby-makin' on the brain.

"Wrench," Low sags in his lap, sounding deeply disappointed, "Seriously?! I told you to warn me before you busted a nut. I wasn’t playing earlier about the ‘boy who cried cum.’ These antibiotics fuck with my birth control..."

"Just one time isn't gonna magically replicate our DNA..." he tries, but even on his ears, it sounds fucking lame. 

She frowns. Her disappointment meter rises into the stratosphere, which is confusing since her pussy is still fluttering distractingly around his semi. "I  _ uhhhh _ , fuck... I forgot. My brain changed position on me. I'm sorry."

" _ Shit _ ," Low curses unhappily, peels his hands off her waist, and sits up. 

Wrench winces as his soft dick slaps against his inked stomach. Warm dribbles of cum slide down to his balls, which would generally be insanely hot but now acts as a reminder that he might have botched this whole quickie thing and gotten her-

_ No-no… _ they've fucked with way higher chances of  _ that _ and nothing's happened. Besides, all the microwave radiation and energy drinks have probably sterilized him by this point.  _ Right?  _ There’s no way someone like him has any floaters left, at least not viable ones at any rate.

For some reason, suddenly the DedSec Headquarters feels incredibly quiet.

"Soooo," he starts, trying to clean off all the spunk from his junk as if that will make him appear more mature and serious about this royal fuck up. "Are you mad?" His brain winces at the way that also sounds. Apparently, give him the possibility of knocking her up, and Wrench quickly reverts to some basic bitch version of his highschool self.

Low's already pulling on her jeans and combing shaky fingers through her hair. Those apple cheeks are hot and angry-looking, and it's time for damage control. ASAP! But  _ uhhhh _ , he's still got post-fuck brain, and words are hard right now. Also, the words he manages are obviously not helping.

"What level of 'uh-oh' are we talking about here? Like is this… 'baby level' fucked or just…" he isn't sure he can finish that thought, to be honest. What’s worse than ‘baby level’ anyway?

LowRes adjusts the crotch of her jeans with a frown and pulls up her phone, scrutinizing the lock screen for way too long. Several seconds go by where Wrench is stuck frozen with his soft dick on display, loose jeans between his fingers mid pullup.

Wrench watches her chew her lower lip. She makes that face, the one which says she's adding up numbers, percentages, and variables in her head at breakneck speed. A little sound of worry makes his asshole pucker because _what if_ … what if this is the jizz fountain that does it? _Is_ _it safe to breathe if that's the case???_

He's not ready for fatherhood. His father wasn’t ready and probably the fucker that raised that asshole wasn’t either. Wrench barely remembers to feed GigaBite unless Low reminds him. Even that peace lily Marcus got him as a gag gift didn't last a week, and those air-purifying bastards survived everything. What bone in his body knows what to do with kids? Cause his dad didn't have it—sure as shit neither does he.

Eventually, just when his spine starts to solidify into a steel beam, Low turns around towards him, nose still in her phone. "Who knows how dense that semen of yours is, but if the gasoline fumes haven't killed all your sperm cells, then you're looking at a twenty-two percent chance of  _ knocking me up _ —so, I think you can breathe for now. We’ve had fifty-fifty calls before."

“We have??!”

Low throws him a sympathetic look of endearment, but doesn’t offer a response because Wrench doesn’t really deserve one. He’ll be the first to admit that. So, Wrench does what anyone in this situation would do, he pulls up his jeans, zips them up, calmly stands and grabs Low’s hands. She makes a weird noise—a scoff between annoyance and another kind of annoyance but Wrench pulls her into a big bear hug anyway, gets in close to her ear until his spikes are poking her cheek and whispers like a crackhead, "Worth iitttttttt…."

" _ Ugh _ , god…" she groans and shoves him back on the sofa, "I'm being serious, Wrench. You need to listen better from now on. I get the whole blood leaving your brain thing, but what if you actually got me pregnant? Like twenty-two perfect isn't a small number. There's plenty of chance one of your belligerent sperm cells is battering down my defenses, infiltrating an egg and  _ replicating _ ." She just can’t resist using the ‘spooky’ voice for that last word, and Wrench loves her for it.

"You saying you don't wanna be a MILF?" He gives her a tilde-caret wink to lighten the mood even though he's sweating bricks. Something is lingering in the air—a weird ozone of anxiety he's not used to. Mixed with the light-hearted jokes and humor, it’s sorta venturing into uncanny valley territory.

_ Twenty-two percent isn't THAT bad _ , he lies to himself.

Low taps her heel like he's been a bad boy, and while that's hot and all, it's also true. Wrench makes a mental note to think more… even when she's rocking her body into his, taking away all those vulnerable feelings with kisses and gentle hands…

"I'd rather roleplay some MILF crap if that's what you're into now than actually be one for real."

Oddly enough, something about that makes Wrench feel a little… hurt. When he was a kid, sitting at an empty breakfast table most mornings, he dreamed about nuclear families and parents that gave a shit. Only when he turned into an adult did he drop the whole ‘wanting a family of his own’ schtick. Suddenly, that little kid is rearing its pimply ass and Wrench isn't sure he likes it.

LowRes sees the drop in his face through sad pixel slashes and time-tested sixth sense. Wrench tries not to emote when he notices the way her thin expression softens because her next words are so gentle it almost hurts, "Hey, I thought we talked about this… that you didn't want kids because of… because of  _ so _ many things."

Low was right, but—surprisingly—he was starting to kinda, maybe, a little bit but mostly not warm up to the idea of sporting a kickass baby around Frisco. Wrench could use a backup sidekick—a pupil if you will—cause, let's be real, Marcus wasn't as impressed with his antics as he should sometimes be. Also, he could design a baby-sized grenade launcher, basically replacing the whole ‘robotic third arm’ thing he’s been thinking about the past few months.

"Are you thinking about what I think you're thinking about? Because we also talked about  _ that. _ "

Wrench blinks, gives her a double caret grin, and watches the exaggerated disappointment scrunch up her adorable, round face. He stands up and pats her head until her glare starts to melt the spikes on his mask. Somehow, Low still loves him, though.

"I promised you," he reminds her with a leering static, "I would NEVER make a bionic arm that attaches via a chest harness for rocket launcher related shenanigans, and I stand by that commitment. ALSO, I would never think about putting a baby in a harness with a miniaturized rocket launcher instead of the bionic arm thing. Pinky promise."

He offers his pinky in solidarity but Low just glares at it and mutters, "Har-har-har…" arms tightly crossed.

"Seriously, though…” Wrench straightens up, rubbing the sides of her arms, both for his own comfort and hers, “how long until we're out of DEFCON mode? Like," Wrench wags several fingers at her stomach, "do we just wait for this to balloon up or- _ OWw _ !"

He rubs the smart LowRes socked into his shoulder with good humor, only half-joking about what they do now, cause he's a master of many, many things, but the human reproductive stuff was not one of them. 

"I guess I’ll grab a pregnancy test in a week. It takes about that long to show up on the pee stick..."

"Want me to help with that?" He asks, "... the pee thing I mean." To clarify. He even tries to sound sultry as if helping her piss in a cup was gonna lead to some hanky panky. Truth is, if she was  _ ya know _ , then the consequences of boning were null and void. Also… that meant…

"Nope, I see those emotes, dude. Stop thinking about whatever weird shit you're thinking about. Since you've proven unable to follow one simple request, your punishment is no pussy until…" she pauses to recheck her lock screen, "... the end of the month. Don’t worry about me, we both know I have a 3D model of your dick anyway."

Wrench's stomach sinks, "But-but it's like… the fifteenth or the fifth! HOW am I supposed to live?!  _ It's the fifth, isn't it!?" _

Low ignores him with a twitching smile despite the theatrics—the  _ super _ loud theatrics. She even tries to walk away when he falls to the ground, begging and pleading on his knees to the great Goddess of Mercy, clutching at her ankles to really sell him piety. 

"I'll go back to pulling out! I'll wear condoms! I'll get ball surgery! I’ll wear a zentai!"    
  


She drags him across the HQ, trying not to laugh while pulling his dead, horny weight. Low does a great job of ignoring him as he blurts out something about fucking her inner thighs when the upstairs door slides open before he can  _ really  _ humiliate himself.

Marcus and Horatio clobber down the steps, making as much noise as possible to alert any nefarious culprits to their presence. Everyone’s been walked in on—not just them—doing something brain-melting, so the more chaos peeps can make coming down the stairs the better. Lucky for Marcus and Horatio, all they find is Wrench clawing at Low's calf while she works on some last-minute unit testing; sipping on cold, milky coffee. It's safe to say Wrench will have to lay it on thick if he expects any sorta lovin' between now and next month. 

LowRes might be able to resist him for now because she’s got those sweet endorphins running strong, but sooner or later, her child's father—all joking aside—will find a way to make this up to her. He's already got schemes that involve Chinese food, skyscrapers, and rotten eggs. Even better than that, he's gonna sell that bundle of dynamite to those skater kids in Oakland, which will undoubtedly,  _ without a shadow of a doubt _ , prove to Low that he's responsible enough for Fatherhood if it turns out he's gonna be a Daddy. 

Until then, Wrench feels pretty comfy glued to her leg, flipping through DIY baby harnesses on his phone. If anyone sees what he's doing, no one dares ask. A committed Wrench is _ a Wrench out for blood! Ooooooo' oooo. Spooky. Maybe they have bloody baby harnesses.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. All typos are my own. If you have time, please let me know what you think. <3
> 
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